


Never Enough

by sabriel75



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fear of Discovery, First Time, Intercrural Sex, Love, M/M, Magic Revealed, One Shot, Sex, merlin_muses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabriel75/pseuds/sabriel75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Everyone in Camelot has secrets, and unfortunate for Arthur, he keeps them all as well as his own. Which is fine because Arthur can be trusted. It is only Merlin, the one person who does keep his secrets to himself and should trust Arthur enough, that doesn’t and it is driving Arthur a bit mad.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Enough

Arthur walks mindlessly along the corridors, or staggers more like it, even though only a tumbler or two of ale has made it past his lips. Drunkenness might be his preference in this maudlin mood he’s in, but lowering his defenses and leaving his servants and knights to the court vultures tonight would not have been very noble. Only two guards and the great hall servants had remained behind when Arthur had taken his leave.

Plodding along tiredly, his steps echo around him and the sound barely keeps him alert. He watches his shadow enviously; the dark part of him trips through the corridors, growing larger and leaner and then shrinking into nothingness as his real person is hidden from the light. He wishes he could detach himself, halve himself and go about his business, because he feels as if he’s slowly being driven to madness, much like his own father has been by the sheer enormity of trying to be to all people what they want.

These last few weeks, in short, have been torture and he leans against a wall, letting the chill of the air cool his heated face. Sobriety — a new sensation, another responsibility for him and a difficult one when he has to sit through yet another celebratory feast and watch his father bestow praise on unworthy, undeserving individuals. If his father thinks these feasts will convince the nobility he’s sane, he is sadly mistaken.

Traitorous thoughts, each chasing the other about his skull, wound Arthur more than the physical effects of the battle. His father’s neglect to pay tribute to his own knights’ daring charge or acknowledge his strategies is something he has come to expect from his father who supposedly loves him. But Arthur tires of his own men never receiving the credit they deserve and it is bad for Camelot’s morale.

In this emotionally draining search for Morgana, he has forgotten how much he cares, really cares for the people of this kingdom.

A trait Arthur shares with his mother obviously. The man who now rules, the man he calls father is unbending, unjust and even cruel at times. Arthur refuses to believe he will become like that; that he is like that. It is why he clings to Ygraine’s memory, why he treasures every whispered rumor of her protective streak of the people.

Through his subjects’ secretive remembrance, he is given glimpses of the mother he lost. And… he would walk to the ends of the earth to see her again, the magic that conjured her up, her image of no consequence. He would try anything to know her without his father’s influence, his warped perspective.

Because of all the treacherous thoughts he thinks tonight; his primary one would lead to execution, the title Crown Prince no protection.

Nothing will ever convince Uther to stop hating magic.

And Arthur cannot say he doesn’t understand. His father blames the magic, but Arthur blames the person. Deep down, he holds his father responsible for using a power he did not respect, for recklessly abandoning his family’s fate to someone he had no faith in. He believes with his entire being that if his father had loved his mother enough, loved him enough that Ygraine, his mother would still be alive.

He hates too. Each death that Uther compounds upon another in an effort to justify his own loss, Arthur’s willingness to freely give his heart breaks a little more. If love drives Uther to this kind of madness, Arthur worries what it will do to him. How desperate will he be under the influence of such a love?

Except that he longs already for the too intense and with no ordinary desperation. He’s been doomed for so long now, he cannot remember a time where he does not question how it would be to embrace magic, to taste it and willingly accept it for himself. His fantasies break every cardinal law his father has ever made in regards to magic and it is not enough. If it’s not love, it certainly is an obsession akin to what his father feels, because Arthur will do anything, defy anyone to keep Merlin safe and by his side always.

 _Even his father._

Of this, Arthur does not doubt. His manservant is the single most reckless man to ever walk the earth and has no survival instincts. But Arthur wants all of him, wants to know him intimately in every way and mentally commits treason every time he questions what he would do if he had to choose, if his father ever had the chance to decide Merlin’s fate. Every moment of Merlin’s life since arriving at Camelot has been a lie and yet he adores Merlin for his loyalty, his innate need to protect Arthur and ultimately Camelot time and time again.

It doesn’t make the secrets feel any less of a betrayal. Arthur knows it’s yet another thing his father denies him. Uther’s irrationality taints every part of his life and not even his personal relationships can escape his father’s debilitating hate. He has envisioned many scenarios of how their future, Merlin and his, might play out and not all of them end with happily ever after. He holds out enough hope though and holds fast to Merlin’s promises of a great destiny that the ache of it all manifests physically.

Just this spark, this precious moment of letting his memories have a go at imagining Merlin and he together and a frisson of desire hits Arthur hard. He curses aloud at how stiff he becomes and adjusts himself before pushing off the wall, ambling on again, hurriedly this time. It’s late and he hopes that Merlin has taken the night off as he requested. Arthur really would like some time to unwind without an audience, especially when his thoughts take too avid an interest in the male undressing him on most occasions.

The outer room is clean and balmy when he slips in, locking the door behind him. Warm bread and cheese sit upon the table along with a flask of wine and a full goblet beside it, steeping in readiness. Arthur gratefully sinks into his chair, his mood improved by the comfort of his rooms. He greedily drinks down the wine before picking at the bread.

Merlin’s voice interrupts the silence, “Need me to pour you another?”

Though he’s startled and cannot see Merlin, Arthur can tell something is off. He turns to scold his manservant for skulking in corners when he actually takes in Merlin. The shock of his appearance leaves a disturbing ringing in his head as he looks his fill of Merlin without his neckerchief, the ties of his shirt undone. “Sorry, you told me take the night off, but when have I ever done what you tell me to do?”

He ducks forward to top off Arthur’s goblet and the motion draws Arthur’s gaze downwards; he follows Merlin’s bowed head, his bowed back as he pours and to the floor where Merlin is barefoot. Lust unfurls too quickly for Arthur to catch himself; he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Merlin, what are you doing here half-dressed?”

“Waiting for you.” He answers through a wide grin and chuckle. “You didn’t eat much at the feast so I thought…” He trails off with a shrug and goes to poke at the fire and Arthur cannot pull his eyes away from him. Merlin is irresistibly vulnerable-looking without his usual costume and there’s a hurt in his tone, a sadness in how he carries on, tidying up around Arthur and motioning him to finish eating.

“You alright?”

Merlin looks up with a quiet smile. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Aren’t you hungry?”

Their interaction, easy and domestic, lulls Arthur into a comforting calm despite his skin crackling under the pressure, his body poising for action as if preparing for battle. The dichotomy of his emotional state confuses Arthur and leaves him frustrated often now-of-days and he wonders if Merlin can feel this force between them. In this moment, he longs to know, if maybe, Merlin might feel the same and even be adding to the desperate heat infusing Arthur’s limbs as he shifts again, more noticeably this time.

“Here. C’mon,” Merlin urges gently. He pulls Arthur up and towards the bed. In a surprised daze, Arthur follows Merlin obediently but slaps his hands away when he begins to strip him. “I can do that.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’re tired and that’s why I’m here,” Merlin explains as he butts in, taking over the task of unbuckling his belt.

“Maybe I wanted some more wine?” Arthur hedges pathetically, unable to dispel the excitement coursing through his body.

“If you wanted to get drunk, Arthur, you would already have done that at the feast,” Merlin huffs, unwinding the belt and pulling it loose. He gives Arthur a smiling nod as he puts it away. “C’mon, arms up.”

Arthur lifts his arms haughtily and Merlin pulls his prince regalia off in one swift movement. “Getting good at that,” he laughingly chastises when Merlin dumps it all in a pile by the wardrobe rather than folding and putting it away.

Merlin just shakes his head. “Needs cleaning,” and moves Arthur’s night shift further down the bed before forcing Arthur into sitting on it.

“Merlin!”

“Boots off, then pants, yeah?” Merlin asks cheekily, kneeling at Arthur’s booted feet dangling off the bed.

The ringing in Arthur’s head had tuned down to an annoying buzz; it comes back with a gale force. He falls back on his elbows, waggling his legs in reply. There is no way he could speak with Merlin this close and mimicking actions he has only ever done in Arthur’s fantasies.

His boots and socks come off together, but the slightest hint of fingertips gliding over his calves and ankles shock Arthur upright. He glares at a giggly Merlin bent over to push his boots into the corner. He closes his eyes, begging his mind to store that memory away for later.

“Ticklish tonight?” Merlin whispers conspiratorially as he hauls Arthur up off the bed into a standing position and uses nimble fingers to untie his breeches’ laces.

Arthur’s throat goes dry and he cannot swallow. His breeches pool around his ankles and Merlin waits, expecting him to step out of them, but he’s frozen with surprise, unsure of what’s happening. And when he finally forces air back into his lungs, he cannot help snapping, “What’s gotten into you, Merlin? Have you been in the mead behind my back?”

He holds Merlin still with both his hands cupping Merlin’s jaw and tilts his face down so he can peer up into it, “Are you drunk?”

Merlin’s eyelashes are unbelievably long and shade his eyes when he blinks. They flutter as prettily as any girl’s in Camelot and intensify Merlin’s eyes as they open wide in a panic. His jaw twitches and he starts to speak but hesitates. Instead he steps closer, moves into Arthur’s touch before answering, “No, I’m not… it’s just… you seemed tired and I was worried. That’s all.”

“What have I told you?” Arthur scolds exasperatedly, keeping Merlin pinned with his hands. “It’s touching, but I can take care of myself.”

“And what have I told you Arthur Pendragon?” Merlin asks, just as vexed. “I will always be by your side, as your servant and protecting you for as long as you let me. So why do you keep pushing me away?”

“I haven’t,” Arthur replies automatically, but he knows it’s a lie. Even though he has been keeping Merlin closer than usual, not letting him out of his sight really, he has not allowed Merlin to complete tasks that normally should be his: undressing him, drawing his bath or anything that puts him in touching distance of Arthur’s body.

“Don’t you ever get tired of the lies and secrets, Arthur?” Merlin asks as he pulls out of Arthur’s grasp and pushes him in the chest. “Wouldn’t you like something to be real for once? Have something you could call your own?” He finishes dejectedly, flicking the breeches over to the pile before turning back to face Arthur and hand him his night shift.

The hiss of air Merlin releases unconsciously sets Arthur on edge and he realizes Merlin has finally noticed his erection, how flush and full it is and twitching now under Merlin’s avid stare. His entire body blooms pink and the want washes over him. “Merlin, my night shift,“ he grounds out, lunging forward to grab it out of Merlin’s hand and bumping Merlin in his haste.

Blue eyes tinged with gold snap to his before going dark, a dark blue, freezing Arthur in place. There is something feral in Merlin’s gaze and Arthur knows he feels the same way. They’ve taken too long, waited at the fringes of desire too silently not to understand what neither is saying.

It is Merlin who crowds Arthur, runs his hands over Arthur’s shoulders and appraises Arthur’s naked body without embarrassment. His palms splay wide over Arthur’s chest, and he pushes Arthur onto the bed, yet again. This time though, Merlin follows, fits his body to Arthur and buries his head in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

“Arthur?” Merlin breathes out, an exhale of warmth against his neck and Arthur’s breath hitches and he nods, agreeing to whatever this is. He tangles his hands in Merlin’s hair, tugs on his head and pulls him in for a kiss — a soft, barely there sort of breathing into each other’s mouths. Arthur needs the contact but he explains in between the push of lips: “It’s never enough Merlin," he gasps. 

They share a breath or two. Merlin mumbling against his lips, “I know. I always want more of you too.” And then there is no air to be shared between them because they angle themselves upwards and close the kiss.

They fit themselves together, instinctually, as if they have done this before and maybe they have. As many times as Arthur has envisioned Merlin tangled up in him, their calloused fingers entwined, pale and tanned hands stark against each other and the weight of Merlin above him; how could he not know what to do. He rolls them, hears a swoosh of air leave Merlin and enjoys how he clings to Arthur and scrambles over him to pin him to the bed. They are kissing again; and Arthur surges beneath Merlin, opens his mouth for Merlin to slip his tongue inside and longs for closer contact.

Here, in this now for them, everything they are, everything they know about each other is true and real and the secrets don’t matter and their titles mean nothing. It is terrifying…, fulfilling and freeing. Arthur needs this blind acceptance and suspects Merlin does too, each of them always so conscious of what others might see when looking at them, judging them for what they are not or what they might be.

He has hoped that he and Merlin could manage this if they could brave and bluff their way through the start, through the secrets and hurt between them and quit being so bloody stubborn. What he never expected is Merlin to come to him. He gratefully accepts the gift for what it is and laughs at Merlin, who has managed to remove his shirt but cannot wiggle out of his breeches. The daft man is flailing about as usual.

“Some help here,” he fusses nervously and Arthur takes pity on him, yanking his breeches off and throwing them over the bedside.

“Better?”

“Much,” Merlin says as he tackles Arthur, chasing his frustration away with wet, open-mouthed kisses along Arthur’s jawline.

Arthur arches up, matching the rhythm of Merlin’s tongue now thrusting hotly between his lips. He groans into the next kiss and barely catches himself when he goes to push Merlin down his body. “Merlin, I need…,” he begs and feels Merlin grin against his neck, nipping it teasingly before licking a wet stripe over his Adam’s apple.

“Merlin,” Arthur barks, his throat convulsing too much for clear speech and his mind too lost in the sensation of Merlin for more than one word pleas, but he is tired and anxious for more and his body cannot do anything but rut upwards, rut against Merlin’s rolling hips. He pushes up again and Merlin wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing at the base, pulling, tugging and stroking Arthur just the way he likes it. Arthur hears himself beg more, chant Merlin’s name over and over again and he tries to keep in control, but Merlin’s warm, knowing hands strip him up and down and the urge to buck up into them, to come overrides any other instinct.

Above him, Merlin chokes as he thrust downwards in earnest and his cock slides hot and slick over Arthur’s sensitized belly, wet from come and their mingled sweat. Merlin angles his hips into the inside hollow between Arthur’s thighs and uses his arms to push Arthur’s legs closer together, to press them shut. He moves between them, smearing a wet trail into the crease of Arthur’s quivering legs, slowly and then faster as he finds a pace to bring himself off.

“You. Time. We.” Merlin pants incoherently, riding Arthur hard and continuing to mumble about rearranging the universe and never giving Arthur up and other sweet nothings that Arthur hears but can’t quite retain in the haze of pleasure racing through him. And Merlin comes on another gasp and lets his head fall onto Arthur’s shoulder, his arms still boxing Arthur in where they remain suspended in a quiet balance of their own making.

It should not feel this right if everyone else is to be believed and Arthur thinks he should care more that they’re a sticky mess and that Merlin’s breathing has evened out and is possibly about to topple above him, but he doesn’t. All he can think is romantic dribble. Nonsense such as he hopes after this Merlin knows he will protect him too and that he wants their destiny to be as grand as Merlin thinks it should be.

They should probably talk about Merlin’s confession too. He has all but said I am magic and Arthur isn’t sure if Merlin has guessed Arthur already knows and wanted to officially tell his secret to Arthur or if he couldn’t control himself and has accidentally revealed himself.

Arthur doesn’t dare speak into the silence though. This new sense of being, unconditional acceptance, is too addictive to speak about and instead he settles closer to Merlin, who noses him in the cheek and does break the silence, “It’s never enough?”

And Arthur knows Merlin needs assurance but he doesn’t want to talk and he is the Crown Prince afterall, so he flips Merlin below him, surprising a laugh out of him. But Arthur also knows his manservant won’t be sidetracked by laughter or princely glares to shut-up, so he leans in and shoves his tongue between Merlin’s laughing lips and sucks all the words from his mouth hoping he doesn’t start up again about the universe and eternal love and arsed ideas of that sort, because in this moment, Arthur thinks – Merlin here in his arms – _is enough_ for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing porn does not come easily for me. Just ask my beta and southern repressed childhood. Please be kind, but feel free to give any critical feedback you can. I do aim to learn to write these kinds of scenes better and quit being all talk.
> 
>  _Die Alone_ by Ingrid Michaelson really fits my perspective of Arthur and Merlin and so I thank [arieneat](http://arineat.livejournal.com/profile) who offered up this [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/merlin_muses/15682.html) and for giving me a reason to write a one-shot to it.
> 
> The lovely, impressive [planejane](http://planejane.livejournal.com/profile), who really does not know how valuable her instincts are, but I do and thank God she has them. :D


End file.
